American Struggle Page 32

  The last time Dr. Logan had been in their home was when Julia was born. Meg had been only five, but she could remember the old gray-haired doctor. He’d come down the stairs and announced that Mama had had a little girl. Then Papa’d fixed the doctor a mug of coffee before he left. Meg recalled how excited she’d been over having a sister.

  Now the doctor was back again for no real reason. He checked Meg over and made a few sounds like “Hm” and “Uh-huh” but said very little. Then she heard him talking to Mama and Papa in a soft voice in the front hall. Finally he was gone, and she was able to sleep again.

  Once or twice Mama tried to get her to take some broth, but she could hardly lift her head to do so. All she wanted to do was sleep. Sometime during the day, Mama helped her out of her school dress and into her flannel gown. Goldie stayed snuggled up close to Meg.

  That afternoon when Fred and Julia came home, Fred said, “Well, well, the lazybones is still lazing about. That Margaret gets away with everything.”

  “Frederick Buehler, you hush up right this minute,” Meg heard Julia reply. “Meg is real sick, and you act like you don’t even care.”

  Meg could hardly believe her ears—Julia standing up to her older brother? But Meg’s brain was too foggy to even thank Julia for her words, and Meg soon settled back to sleep.

  The days melted together in a soft blur. Meg wasn’t sure when one day ended and the next one began. Sometimes she’d hear sounds from the kitchen, and she knew she should be in there helping. Who was feeding the chickens? Would the chickens starve because she was shirking her work? She never went upstairs to bed but was allowed to sleep in the front room instead.

  One morning Meg woke up and wondered why she wasn’t getting any better. She felt she should at least get up and try to walk around. Just then Mama came in the room.

  “You are finally awake?”

  “May I get up now?” Meg asked.

  Mama shook her head. “Doctor says to be in bed for a time will help you get well.”

  “What do I have?”

  Again Mama shook her head. “He does not know. Just that you are weak and need rest, he says.”

  “But I need to help with the work. And what about school?”

  “Susannah will bring your books this afternoon. She brings assignments from your instructor as well.”

  Meg would be glad to see Susannah. As much as she needed her rest, she wanted to be up and about. “May I come to the table to eat?”

  “Tomorrow perhaps. We’ll see.”

  That afternoon, Susannah fairly burst into the Buehlers’ front room. “Oh, Meg,” Susannah gushed. “I’ve missed you terribly. I don’t even like school when you’re not there.”

  Julia and Fred had followed Susannah into the front room, but now Mama came and shooed them out. “Let Meg and Susannah visit,” she said firmly.

  Susannah put down the books in her arms, took off her cloak, and pulled a chair over near the sofa. “Do you feel terribly bad? Julia told us you were awful sick.”

  “I don’t feel badly,” Meg told her. “Just very tired.”

  “Well, I have exciting news that will make you feel better.” She scooted the chair a little closer and lowered her voice. “There’s to be a citywide art contest for all the schools. It’s sponsored by the institute. President Foote himself is going around to all the schools to announce it.”

  “President Foote came to our school?”

  Susannah nodded and smiled. “See there? I knew you’d be excited. There’ll be different categories for different age groups. Oh, Meg, you just have to enter. No matter what anyone says, your art should be important. I don’t know why you don’t stand up for what you believe in.”

  All Susannah’s words were making Meg weary. It required too much strength to think. “I don’t know—”

  “It’s not right now. I didn’t mean for you to jump up and start drawing now. The contest will be in the spring. And the winner will be part of a special showing at the institute at the close of the school year. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Meg allowed herself to imagine for a moment what that might be like. But then she could imagine Mama solemnly shaking her head and Fred taunting. “Perhaps by spring I’ll feel better,” she said, hoping Susannah would drop the subject. “What work did Mrs. Gravitt send?” she asked.

  “Plenty of hard work. I hope by next year Mrs. Gravitt either changes schools, changes classrooms, or quits teaching.”

  Meg smiled. “I think there is little chance of any of those happening.” Then she added, “She’s not so bad, Susannah. Just a little strict.”

  “After all those sentences she made you write? And you still say nice things about her?” Susannah shook her head in disbelief. She pulled out a paper on which Mrs. Gravitt had written the assignments and handed it to Meg. At the bottom of the page, in swirling penmanship, Mrs. Gravitt had added a nice note wishing Meg a quick recovery.

  As Susannah rose to go, she said, “We’re beginning to decorate the rooms for Christmas. Our class made paper candles today and put them in each window.”

  Christmas. Meg could hardly believe it.

  “You just have to be better by Christmas,” Susannah added as she put on her cloak and prepared to leave.

  Meg wanted to agree, but how could she be sure? She still didn’t know what the doctor had said. “Thank you so much for bringing my books.”

  “Oh, I wanted to,” Susannah said. “I’ve missed you so. I asked Mama if I could come over on Saturday to see you again. She said I might.”

  Suddenly the awful weariness swept over Meg again. If company wore her out that much, she wasn’t sure a long visit would be good, but she hesitated to say so.

  The days that followed were filled with frustration and boredom. Meg could only do her schoolwork for short periods of time before the weariness took over. But she kept on trying. Julia was kind enough to take her papers and turn them in.

  Some days Meg felt a little better, and she thought surely she was on the mend. Then there would be a setback.

  On Christmas Day, she was allowed to go with the family to the Hendrickses’. It was the first time she’d been out since the day she’d fainted at the breakfast table.

  At midmorning, Uncle John and Stephen came to take them all in the sleigh. Mama bundled Meg up as though she were a tiny baby. It felt good to be outside once again. The sharp, cold air was tingly on Meg’s face. Bright sunshine sparkled on the fresh new snow, and everyone was laughing and calling out “Merry Christmas” to one another.

  The sleigh bells jingled, and the runners gave off a humming sound as they skimmed over the snowy streets. Bare trees cast lacy shadows here and there on the pure, white snow. Since it was only a few blocks from the Buehler house to the Hendrickses’, Uncle John decided to take them for a ride about town “just for the fun of it,” he said. How wonderful to do something just for the fun of it. Meg wished her family would do something just for fun.

  Though she still had very little appetite, just the aromas of the magnificent Christmas dinner gave Meg great joy. She took a small helping of almost everything on the table, including the pumpkin pie. Mama made her lie down and rest in the afternoon, which seemed odd. Never before had Meg been so fussed over. She could tell it still irritated Fred. He continued to accuse her of pretending, though not as often as before.

  Late in the afternoon, Meg walked into the kitchen and heard Mama saying something to Aunt Lucy about Yellow Springs. Meg knew of only one place by that name. It was a health resort near Dayton where rich people went. As Meg entered the room, Mama hushed. But Aunt Lucy said, “I think you should talk to Meg about it.”

  “Talk to me about what?” Meg asked. Mama’s face looked troubled.

  “She’ll have to know sooner or later,” Aunt Lucy insisted.

  Mama pulled out a chair for Meg and then sat down with her at the table. “The doctor, he says you need time away to get your strength back. He says good things happen to sick people at
Yellow Springs because of the mineral water there. A place where you can get better. But all of us cannot go.” Mama gave a shrug.

  “So,” Aunt Lucy said, “I was suggesting that your oma could take you. It would be good for her to get away as well.”

  “Take me?” Meg’s weary head was spinning again. None of this made any sense. She’d never gone anywhere before without Mama and Papa.

  “You could take a canal boat to Dayton, then take the stage to Yellow Springs,” Aunt Lucy explained.

  “The canal is frozen,” Meg put in. At least her mind could say that much.

  Aunt Lucy laughed. “In the spring, Meg. We’re talking about when the weather breaks and the boats are running again.”

  “Won’t I be well before then?” The thought of being sick the rest of the winter was almost more than Meg could bear.

  Aunt Lucy put her arm about Meg’s shoulders. “You will be well again, but it’s going to take time.”

  Meg looked over at Mama. “Do you want me to go to Yellow Springs?”

  Mama glanced down at her hands folded in her lap. “Your papa and I want you to be well. We will do what the doctor says.”

  Meg’s sickness had caused enough trouble as it was. Such a trip would cost her parents a great deal of money. She’d be taking a trip with Oma, and she didn’t even like to be with her grandmother more than one afternoon at a time. How would she manage this?

  If she’d not stopped by the institute that afternoon in the snowstorm, she never would have gotten sick at all. Meg felt weighted down by guilt.

  CHAPTER 15

  To Yellow Springs

  By February, Meg returned to school for two or three days a week. She wasn’t allowed to go out for recess, even on the sunniest days. She was still behind on some of her lessons.

  When Fred learned about her upcoming trip, he acted as though Meg had planned the whole thing. As they walked back and forth to school, he complained about the unfairness of it all. “I’ve always wanted to ride a canal boat,” he told her. “Why should you get to go just because you’re a little bit sick?”

  Julia had ceased to side with Fred. This, too, was a frustration for Fred, and he turned to picking on Julia. Julia, however, stood up to him. “You should be praying for Meg to get well,” Julia would say to her brother, “instead of talking so mean all the time.”

  Since Meg no longer had to stay in bed, the days passed more quickly. Mama purchased fabric at the mercantile and sewed Meg two new dresses to wear on the trip. Meg was thankful since she knew other ladies and girls staying at Yellow Springs would be dressed in fine fashions. However, what she would do with two new dresses after the trip, Meg couldn’t imagine.

  One morning at school, Susannah asked Meg about the art contest. “Have you thought any more about entering?” she wanted to know.

  The mention of the contest irritated Meg. “Susannah, I’ve been sick. Mama and Papa have told me not to waste time sketching. Now just how do you think I would ever be able to enter a contest?”

  Meg had never spoken a cross word to her dearest friend, and the moment the words were out, she felt terrible. But Susannah just laughed.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she said. “You can draw all you please during your time away.”

  Her words caught Meg by surprise. The thought had never occurred to her.

  “Just think about it,” Susannah continued, “perhaps the opportunity will present itself.”

  The canal opened the first week in March, and Oma and Meg had their tickets to ride to Dayton. The docking area was filled with the bustle of a busy commerce area. Freight packets were loading and unloading.

  High-pitched horns sounded to signal an approaching boat, and the captains called out to hail one another as they passed in the shallow canal. Wheels clattered over the cobblestones as carriages, wagons, and drays crowded about to take care of business and deliver passengers.

  Meg’s plump, happy-faced Opa was there to see them off, as was her family and the four Hendrickses. Meg felt almost elegant in her new blue silk dress covered with flounces and ruffles.

  Since some of Meg’s strength had returned, she argued that this trip was a waste of money, but Mama and Papa insisted that she go. So here she was.

  Fred insisted he’d rather ride the train than a canal boat any day. After Meg had hugged everyone—except Fred, who would only allow a handshake—Susannah stepped forward with a brown package in her hands. “We have a going-away gift for you,” she said. “You can open it on the way. It’s a surprise.”

  Everyone began talking at once. The captain stood on the bow of the boat and blew his horn. Meg was surprised to see that Mama had tears in her eyes. Within a few minutes, the boat was moving, towed by the mules that walked on the path along the canal. Meg looked back to see everyone waving and Mama dabbing her eyes. Fred’s hands were in his pockets.

  At first, Meg had a strange sensation in her stomach at leaving everyone behind. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or excitement. She and Oma went inside the spacious cabin to see the area where they would eat and sleep.

  Several men had already set up a backgammon board and a lively game was under way. Meg had heard stories of boat rides on crowded packets where the owners oversold the space and there was barely room to sleep or eat. Thankfully that wasn’t the case on this trip.

  Since the day was clear, she and Oma went up the stairs to the roof, where chairs and benches were arranged for them to sit. Once they were out of the city, which took a couple of hours, the countryside was peaceful. There were few noises other than the lapping of water at the sides of the canal and the clip-clop of mules’ feet on the towpath.

  Meg had heard that on the Erie Canal in New York, the bridges across the canal were built low and nearly scraped passengers off the boats. But on the Miami, nice hump-backed bridges were built, and the roof-riders had no fears of being knocked off.

  Farther out into the rural areas, people would congregate on the bridges. Some sold vegetables and fresh eggs to the packet cook. Others called out the names of their taverns, encouraging disembarking passengers to come and stay. Still others asked for news because the canal was their link to the big city of Cincinnati.

  After a few hours, Oma became weary and Meg escorted her down the steps into the cabin, where she could sit in a more comfortable chair and rest. It was only then that Meg remembered her going-away gift. Hurrying back to the roof, she took the package from her valise and untied the string. Two well-dressed ladies with ruffled parasols looked on.

  “Your birthday?” one asked.

  Meg looked up at her. “No, ma’am. A going-away gift from my friends.” The paper fell open and she let out a little gasp, which made the ladies twitter. Meg should have guessed. There was a box of colored pencils, a box of charcoals, and a small sketch pad—just the right size for holding in her lap.

  She had all the time in the world, and Oma was resting. Eagerly, Meg opened the sketch pad and began to sketch.

  Meg didn’t actually try to hide her work from Oma, but she was still guarded. After all, Oma would be talking to Mama later on. Why take a chance of being reprimanded? So when Oma returned to the roof, Meg put the work back in her valise and pulled out her embroidery.

  As they chatted, Oma recalled when she and Opa Walford had left the beautiful Black Forest of Germany and traveled across the Atlantic Ocean to the United States.

  “Not quiet like this, it was,” she said. “Rocking, pitching about. People terrible sick. But,” she added, “safe we docked in New York harbor. That is all that matters.”

  Following a fine supper, a crimson curtain was strung across the cabin. The women were bedded down in the front half, while the men stayed in the back half of the boat. Women releasing bustles and stepping out of hoops and rustling crinolines created an interesting commotion. Seeing the narrow berths that folded down from the walls, Meg was immediately thankful for her small size. Oma had quite a time getting her stout frame in any sort of
comfortable position.

  But even though she fit in the small berth, Meg had a hard time sleeping. Through the curtain came the heavy sounds of men snoring.

  By the time they arrived in Dayton the next afternoon, Meg had completed several sketches and felt rested. At Dayton, they disembarked and were taken to the Midland Tavern. There they waited for the stage bound for Yellow Springs to arrive.

  Compared to the quiet ride of the canal packet, the stage was loud, rowdy, and dusty. Meg feared that Oma would be quite shaken to pieces on the rough ride.

  Leather curtains, which were snapped down in foul weather, were rolled up, letting the dust blow freely through the coach. Oma covered her mouth with her hankie and coughed. Meg wasn’t sure if it was due to the dust or the cigar smoke from a well-dressed gentleman with a shiny gold watch fob.

  Meg fairly flew from her seat when the stage hit the deepest bumps on the rutted road. Hanging on for dear life didn’t help much. The way grew steeper as they entered hilly country. At one point the driver ordered all passengers out to lighten the load as the stage made its way to the top of the tree-studded ridge. All but Oma, that is. The driver said she should ride. Meg and Oma both thanked him for the kindness.

  Though Meg’s new dress was becoming quite dusty, still she was excited by all the goings-on. But for Oma’s sake, she was thankful when late that afternoon the driver called out, “Yellow Springs just ahead.”

  Meg had heard stories about the discovery of the mineral springs and how a resort had become highly popular among the moneyed folk. She wasn’t sure what she expected to see, but it was nothing like what came into view. After she allowed the driver to assist her down from the stage, she gazed up at the massive stone structure tucked away behind a curtain of dense trees.

  The serene beauty nearly took her breath away. Flagstone pathways with wooden railings curved through the trees up to the lodge. A wide veranda wrapped around the front of the lodge, trimmed out in elegant stone arches. Through the arched openings in the veranda, Meg could see a number of white rocking chairs. She was sure she was going to love this beautiful place.